


Family Ties

by K_Hanna_Korossy



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-29
Updated: 2016-01-29
Packaged: 2018-05-17 00:53:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5847544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/K_Hanna_Korossy/pseuds/K_Hanna_Korossy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes chosen family is closer than blood.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Family Ties

First published in _Foundations 3_ (2003)

 

He hadn’t meant it that way, of course.

Probably Jack hadn’t, either, when the first words out of his mouth had been, “So what’s it gonna take to make you pay attention to your job, Dr. Jackson?” But how he could have possibly thought that question wouldn’t cut, Daniel couldn’t imagine.

Okay, so Jack had said it after having to track down Daniel in his office because the archaeologist got caught up in something and didn’t report for their scheduled mission. And, yeah, it had been the second time that week and the fourth that month. But Daniel had been up most of the previous night working on translations and was exhausted and bleary-eyed and in no mood for logic. Or Jack O’Neill’s tactlessness.

“This _is_ my job, Jack,” he’d shot back. “I was trying to make sense of these symbols SG-4 found on their last mission. It has some really interesting similarities to Babylonian--”

He’d learned early on Jack didn’t have much patience for tangents, preferring brief, to-the-point, monosyllabic answers to his question, but fatigue had made Daniel’s tongue run off with his thoughts.

It hadn’t helped the situation.

O’Neill cut him off with a sharp chop of the hand and a glower. “I don’t want to hear it. All I want is for you to show up for missions and briefings on time and prepared--you think you can handle that, Daniel? I’m a little tired of having to find you every time you get distracted. Playtime comes _after_ we do our job.”

Daniel had felt his face flush at that. It wasn’t so much the words that had slapped him, or even the idea he’d been goofing off instead of doing his job when sometimes it felt like that was _all_ he did. It had been Jack’s tone, the same one he used when baiting Apophis or arguing with the Tok’ra. It was...disdainful.

Daniel had had enough of that treatment over the years to last a lifetime and had learned to let it roll off his back mostly unheeded. But this was coming from a friend, one he respected and who he’d thought respected him even when they didn’t agree. To hear Jack now be so scornful, especially when Daniel had been running himself ragged for the almighty SGC, had hurt--and made him mad. And on the offensive.

“That’s just great, Jack. How ‘bout next time we’re between missions, I ‘play’ and you work on processing the archaeological finds?” He saw the comment prick, Jack’s face twisting, and felt cool satisfaction. Nothing like rubbing in how much smarter you were than your friend. “Running around on other planets may be your job, but I have to figure out what we find and how to deal with it some other way than just blasting it. If that’s too ‘distracted’ for you, maybe you should find a team archaeologist who has the same priorities you do.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

Jack’s eyes had grown as cold as his voice, a danger sign he should have heeded, but Daniel had been on a roll, light-headed and not thinking before he spoke. Old angers at being mocked and patronized mixed with current weariness and frustration. “Maybe you should try being a little ‘distracted’ sometimes, Jack. It might do you good to get a life outside the SGC.”

And a second later, as Daniel realized the implications of what he’d just said, Jack had already turned a precise one-eighty and torn out of the room. Not marched out in anger. Escaped like a man who’d had his worst pain dredged up and shoved in his face.

Daniel almost ran after him, but suddenly unbearably weary, he’d sunk into his chair instead. Oh, God, what had he done? Traded barb for barb, but that last had been a deep slice, to the heart of a father who’d lost any life outside his job when his little boy had died. Jack had bounced back over time, slowly, to the point where fishing trips and hockey games and having a beer with his friends brought him pleasure, but the military and the SGC was his life now, and the only family he had left.

Much like Daniel. And he could imagine how deeply it would have wounded him if Jack had thrown into his face the fact that he didn’t have Sha’re to come back home to, either. Daniel might as well have shot the man.

Five minutes later he was in the ‘gateroom, in his gear and silently ready to go. Jack hadn’t said a word, hadn’t even looked at him, just led the way through the ‘gate and an uneventful, mostly silent mission. Daniel caught the questioning glances Sam threw his way and Teal’c’s raised eyebrow but hadn’t offered explanation, and Jack didn’t seem inclined to talk at all besides the briefest of orders. It had been a relief to get back to the SGC and disappear into his office after their debriefing.

Daniel had chastised himself thoroughly and done penance by staying up another night to finish the translations Hammond had wanted. Knowing Jack, an apology would only have made things harder and more awkward. No, the next day they’d both just act like nothing had happened, Daniel trying to be a little less argumentative for a while, and the whole thing would be forgotten.

The next morning, Jack was gone, having claimed some of his accumulated vacation time.

And Daniel knew why. O’Neill was out proving he had the empty “life” Daniel had all but dared him to live.

The rest of SG-1 was on stand-down in the meantime, no pressing mission requiring them to be assigned a temporary replacement leader. It had been a good excuse for Daniel to stay in his office and think dark thoughts.

He hadn’t meant it that way, really, and if Jack thought about it, surely he’d have known that, too. And Jack had started it, his military mindset so focused on the mission and the SGC, he often seemed to forget he had a civilian under his command for a reason. Daniel had never agreed to be another foot soldier; he’d never have taken the job on those terms. He would have found some other way to look for Sha’re. But the chance to search while doing what he loved, under someone he knew and respected, had been a lifesaver when he’d been drowning in loss. It had seemed ideal.

Until now.

Daniel sighed, shoving aside the books whose print had begun to blur before his eyes. The part he’d never counted on was growing so close to those he worked with, forming the first enduring friendships of his life. Sometimes he didn’t even know what to _do_ with them, he was so new to the game. But Jack had been, too, and they’d learned together. Maybe that was why Daniel had grown particularly close to O’Neill, because, in a way, they’d been coming from very similar pasts.

Which was why his stomach hadn’t stopped churning since the scene the day before. In his elusive search for the precious past, Daniel had damaged something precious in the present. Not that he’d been the only guilty party, but that didn’t soothe the acid burn inside. Hurt or guilt, he didn’t even know which it was anymore. Probably liberal amounts of both.

With a deep sigh, Daniel rose to get another cup of coffee. It was all he’d had in the past twenty-four hours, no doubt adding to his sick feeling, but he knew better than to blame it all on the caffeine. Living on coffee during his grad student days had never left him with this empty soul-weariness.

The phone rang, shrill in the quiet office. Daniel jumped, the mug falling from his jittery fingers to shatter on the tiled office floor. He sighed again, more resigned this time. So much for the coffee. It was probably just Sam or Teal’c calling, asking again how he was doing under the guise of inquiring about his work’s progress. He appreciated their concern, more than he could say, but it didn’t help, just made him feel more keenly what he’d blundered and what he was now missing.

Still, as the phone rang again, habit more than interest made him reach to pick it up. There was always the slim chance it was Jack calling to apologize. And be apologized to.

“Dr. Jackson.” He sounded like an old man, his voice faded and hoarse.

“Dr. Jackson, we have an incoming call from a Carl Meehan, requesting to speak to you, sir. Should we put him through?”

Now there was a name to set his mind reeling. Carl Meehan? Uncle Carl, husband of his mother’s sister? The Uncle Carl and Aunt Paula who hadn’t wanted him after his parents had died? God seemed to really have it in for him that week.

“Dr. Jackson?”

Daniel got his foggy brain back in gear. “Oh, uh, yeah. I mean, yes, please, put him through.”

There was no acknowledgment, just a click, and then that gruff, midwestern voice. “Daniel? That you, boy?”

His knees felt a little uncertain, and Daniel sank into his chair. “Yes, sir. To what do I owe this call?”

A hesitation, and the voice on the phone changed, suddenly more human, with pained feeling. “It’s Paula...She’s been in the hospital for a few weeks now, and, well, they say she’s not gonna come out again. She...wants to see you.”

His hand felt cold and taut on the receiver. For all the pain his relatives’ rejection meant for the young orphaned Daniel, his Aunt Paula had always been kind the few times they’d seen each other, and a last tie to his mother. It had always felt good to know she was at least out there, even if he’d never seen her much. “Wh-what happened?” Daniel stammered.

“Cancer. Ovarian. She...she’s not doing so good, boy. You might want to come soon.”

The last few words had firmed up some--his Uncle Carl had always been a proud man and asking must have been difficult, especially from an in-law he’d never seemed to care for much. Daniel’s mother had burned a lot of bridges in her family when she’d married a poor archaeologist, following in her “crazy father’s” footsteps, and while her sister had stayed close to her until her death, her brother-in-law had openly sided with her family.

Daniel shook his head, dazed. Too many memories, too many of them not good ones, and on top of that Paula was dying... “I’ll come right away,” he said numbly.

“Fine. We’re at Ocean Hospital.”

In Virginia Beach--Daniel knew that from the Christmas cards he still received...had received from his aunt each year. They never said very much but they were signed “with love,” and he still had every one in a box back home.

Daniel opened his mouth to reply, but the line was already dead.

Aunt Paula was dying. His mother’s only sibling. There wasn’t any grief--he hadn’t known her well enough for that. But the sorrow of yet another loss snarled the feelings he’d tentatively been sorting through, a hopeless mess Daniel wouldn’t have begun to know how to untangle even if he had the strength to try. Instead, he raised a weighted finger to dial, first Hammond, then his credit card company. They would make all the arrangements for him.

He was going to see his family. And more alone than ever.

 

The wait at the airport, then the trip across the country, felt longer and more grueling than any Daniel remembered being on, including some harrowing journeys in the Middle East and Africa. The airport loudspeaker droned in the background like a very large, underwater bee, and Daniel blinked slowly and with little comprehension at the ever-changing flight information board. Ironic, that a comparatively simple a method of transportation as air travel would confuse him so much more than wormhole travel through the galaxy. Finally finding what seemed to be the right gate--on the far side of the airport, naturally--he clumped his way to it and gratefully sat to wait for the flight. The first one he’d been able to get was still several hours away.

Somehow he managed to stay awake, watching patrons around him through glassy eyes and trying not to think about his aunt. Or Jack. Or any of the rest of his own mixed-up world. Other planets, preferably uninhabited ones, made a lot more sense. The safe mysteries of archaeology were so much easier than trying to figure out people. If only...

His flight was called, and Daniel managed to at least board the correct airplane. He had no luggage, a detail he’s sort of forgotten about, but at least it made things easier. There was enough to worry about just getting himself onto the plane.

The trip was a slow, golden blur. Daniel sat in his seat feeling as though he’d been immersed in molasses. His seatmate, of whom the only thing he later recalled was that he or she had had black hair, talked the trip away, a high, buzzing sound. It reminded him of a race on P3...something.

He was probably as slow at registering that as he was everything else just then, but it was when he’d requested and wrapped himself in a second blanket that Daniel finally decided he was not only miserable but also sick. And who knew since when--he’d been exhausted and feeling poorly for days. How much of that was emotional and how much physical, Daniel had no idea. The snatches of sleep on the flight, full of bizarre thoughts and dreams, only clogged his head more instead of clearing it, and he couldn’t seem to figure things out. By the time they deplaned, it was a struggle just to stay on his feet.

The cool, salty air revived both Daniel’s energy and his spirits as he left the airport and hailed a taxi. It had been a long time since he’d been near the ocean--well, on this planet, anyway--and he’d missed it. Bittersweet memories rose of trips to the beach on the other side of the Atlantic with his still-alive parents introducing him to the pleasures of wet sand and sand castles. Or rather, sand pyramids, the way his father made them, but Egypt had been in his parents’ blood. It was sad his mother’s family had been so unable to share her two greatest loves.

Sobered, Daniel leaned back in the taxi seat, earlier pressing fatigue returning in engulfing waves. His body ached, his head was full of mush, and he couldn’t seem to be warm no matter how he burrowed into his coat, even though the garment had been designed for Colorado winters. It wasn’t even winter, the trees passing by outside just starting to bloom. Maybe he should have brought flowers? He could pick some up at the hospital boutique. It would be a good ice-breaker. What were you supposed to discuss with your only aunt you hadn’t seen in years by her choice?

Daniel swallowed hard. He wasn’t up to this--he wanted to be home, in his own bed, his world aright. Jack not mad at him. Sha’re safely back with him him. Heck, his parents alive, while he was wishing. To be anywhere but paying a deathbed visit to someone whose death he wasn’t even sure how he felt about. But, like so many times during his life, he hadn’t had much of a choice. It had always been commands, duties, guilt trips, very rarely requests, concern, sympathy. Why should his uncle—or Jack—been any different?

The taxi pulled up in front of the hospital, and Daniel was grateful for the plastic revolution again as he merely proffered his credit card. The way he felt, blurred and jumbled, he’d probably have given the driver a $50 tip. As it was, he scrawled his name on the receipt and, bleakly staring up for a moment at the hospital facade, went inside.

A brief query, stalling as he momentarily blanked on his aunt’s last name, and Daniel was directed to two floors up with a kind, “Y’all right, honey?”

“No, thank you,” he said politely, and went in myopic search of an elevator.

Up two flights, down the hall to the right room. Daniel squinted at the numbers for a minute before quietly knocking.

Flowers--he’d forgotten the flowers. Maybe he could still--

A man in his sixties opened the door, broad-shouldered and built like a wall, with a white buzz cut. And bloodshot, wet eyes. Daniel forgot the flowers as his stomach twisted on itself again. Carl Meehan frowned at him, first without recognition, then with dislike.

“You’re too late, boy--she died two hours ago.” He was trying to be gruff, even though his face crumpled a fraction at the word _died_.

The doorway and his uncle’s face spun for a moment, and then just Daniel’s thoughts. He knew he should ask how she died, and if they’d already taken her away, and offer his condolences, but all that came out was a croaked, “Oh, my God.”

Meehan did flinch then, frown easing a fraction, and he pulled a folded envelope from behind him somewhere. “She wrote this for you, when she was still able to write. She asked me to give it to you if--” Another flinch. It wasn’t a shock to find his uncle was human, after all, but Daniel’s brain seemed to have no room for the thought. “Call when you know where you’ll be staying--we’ll let you know about the funeral.”

Where he was staying--funeral? Daniel gazed blankly at the envelope, then at his uncle, fending off dizziness. “I’m sorry,” he whispered finally.

For a moment, it almost seemed to bridge the gulf of years and antipathy between them. And then Carl Meehan withdrew, stepping back to shut the door. “Yeah,” was all he said before it closed in Daniel’s face.

He stood there a long minute, rubbing at his eyes with a leaden arm, the envelope crunching slightly as his hand tightened around it. She was dead, but she had left a message for him. None of the many languages he knew began to describe his emotions.

Daniel automatically began to walk, soon finding himself in a nearby waiting room. Dropping into one of the upholstered chairs, he opened the letter with clumsy fingers and began to read.

 

Contrary to some gossip, Jack O’Neill was not slow on the uptake.

It hadn’t taken much time at the cabin for him to remember running away was an old tactic that never worked. He’d tried it once, and nearly ended up eating his gun. If not for Daniel Jackson.

The same Daniel Jackson who’d put his foot in it big time the day before, stomping all over Jack’s one sensitive spot because no one knew better than Daniel where it was. Okay, yeah, so Jack had been a little...upset, too, but for pete’s sake, the kid was about as far from military as you could get. Never on time, never in perfect uniform, never following orders...

...and just about the best man he’d ever had on one of his teams. If Daniel didn’t get them killed first, he would be the one most responsible for their already impressive list of successes.

But besides all that...Jack liked the guy.

Nothing hearts and flowers, of course--too long in close quarters and they ‘bout killed each other. No, this was about respect for his teammate as an intelligent and decent person, as someone to share a beer with after a long mission, someone he’d done some of the sharing with Sara had always blamed him for not doing. Daniel was...good company.

And irritating as a bee in your skivvies sometimes. But that was Daniel, occasional foot-in-mouth and all. So why had the archaeologist gotten to him so much with what he’d said? Maybe it was that he’d hit so close to the truth. And truth was highly overrated.

So Jack had stewed and pouted and first broken every beer bottle he’d emptied, then meticulously cleaned it all up, along with the rest of the cabin. And when there wasn’t anything left to grimly polish and scrub, he’d set out again for home.

Yeah, home. The base with his spartan, regulation quarters with no view of the night sky, and the three people who made it a lot more meaningful than the nice little house he no longer shared with Sara. One of whom he owed a big apology.

Instead, he’d found two slightly embarrassed teammates and no sign of the one he’d wanted most to see. No clue as to where Daniel had gone, nothing but an empty office where the light was still on and a shattered, coffee-splattered mug decorated the floor. That one gave Jack pause, if briefly. So Daniel had taken off in a hurry. Jack knew the feeling. He would just have to find him. If a non-military archaeologist with hay fever and an awful sense of direction thought he could ditch a USAF colonel with over twenty-five years of military experience, a chunk of it in the field and in special ops, he had one heck of a surprise coming.

It hadn’t taken long to convince Hammond to track Daniel’s credit card. There weren’t many times Jack refused to take no for an answer, but this was one of them. Same with tracing the last call Daniel had received, and asking for transport out to Virginia Beach. Then it was just a matter of grabbing the duffel he’d packed for the cabin and heading across the country on a Navy cargo plane.

Initial annoyance over the younger man taking off cooled into concern during the flight. It would have even back at the base if Jack would have given it half a chance. Daniel could be impetuous but not without reason. Even if he was still upset with Jack, that hardly rated packing up and flying across the country. Then there was the matter of the phone call he’d received, traced back to a hospital room in Virginia. Maybe that had been the reason for the coffee mug remains. The name of the hospital room’s occupant was not familiar to Jack, but when it came down to it, he knew little about Daniel’s past besides the basic details: parents dead in an accident, raised in foster homes, two PhD’s. And even that had taken prying.

The search-and-chew-out mission was completely scrapped by the time the plane began to land at Oceana. All Jack cared about now was finding Daniel, making sure he was okay, and bringing him home, by the scruff of the neck if necessary. The chewing out could wait until everything else was okay.

There was a navy ensign waiting in a jeep for him when he landed; there were a few perks to being a colonel. Jack climbed in with the briefest of greetings and orders, then tuned out the ride, wondering what he’d find at the hospital. Some old friend of Daniel’s, or a relative? It didn’t seem like he had all that many of the latter, certainly not close ones. Everyone in his file had been invited to his premature wake after Nem had made them think Daniel dead, and while his memory of those times was skewed, Jack could only remember meeting one relative, a great-aunt. Mabel something-or-other. Definitely not “Paula.” And anyone closer or younger would have taken the kid in when his parents had died, right? So...nah. Had to be a friend. A pretty good one, to send Daniel racing across the country. And still probably someone he’d never mentioned. Surprise, surprise.

Seemed they knew each other just well enough to know where to stick the knife so it hurt, but not well enough to help the other when it was needed. Swell.

The Jeep stopped in front of the hospital, and Jack gave the ensign a brief nod as he climbed out and jogged up the steps to the front door. He didn’t need to stop at Admitting; the phone trace had given him a room number. Jack ducked into the nearest stairwell and took the steps two at a time to the second floor. Down the hall, to the left, and...

The room was empty.

There were signs of recent occupation, including several machines with dangling wires and an unmade bed, but no patient or family. One eyebrow raised, Jack retraced his steps into the hallway, checking the number. Two-eighteen, yep. Frowning now in earnest, he crossed to the nearby nurses’ station.

“Excuse me?”

A middle-aged Latina nurse with a pleasant face looked up at him with a smile. “Yes?”

“I’m looking for a patient, used to be in that room.” Jack pointed. “Paula Meehan?”

The nurse’s smile faded. “Oh, are you family?”

“Uh, more like a friend of a friend who was coming to see her. Has she been,” he waved his hand, “moved or something?”

“Actually...Mrs. Meehan died earlier today. I’m very sorry.”

Both eyebrows went up. “Oh.” A pause, then he gave her a half-smile and wave before turning away. Okay, the lady Daniel had crossed the country to see was dead. Jack fervently hoped it was after Daniel arrived and had a chance to talk to her. Which meant he would be...where now? Home with the grieving family? Making funeral arrangements? Frustrated, Jack chewed his lip as he idly glanced up and down the white hallway, trying to decide what to do next.

And saw, just visible at the edge of a corner, tousled brown hair.

Tilting his head for a better look, Jack moved closer. A waiting room opened on his right, and in the seat nearest its entryway was hunched a sleeping Daniel Jackson.

Jack stepped around in front of the chair, relief tinged with a growing, nagging worry. Nothing he saw was reassuring him, not the unhealthy flush of Daniel’s cheeks, nor what looked suspiciously like dried tear tracks on them, nor the forlorn look that still haunted his face. Jack winced--the guy looked like he’d lost his puppy. Or his best friend.

Crouching in front of the chair, he could also hear Daniel’s breathing now, a congested, labored sound. Jack frowned, reaching a hand out to hover just above Daniel’s forehead, not quite touching. He didn’t have to to feel the heat. Definitely a fever. So whatever else was going on, the kid was sick. Thousands of miles from Doc Frasier’s nice little infirmary. Great. Didn’t the archaeologist ever do things the easy way?

Jack almost cracked a smile. Would he be Daniel if he did?

Moving to draw his hand back, Jack detoured instead to the piece of paper he’d just noticed was loosely grasped in Daniel’s hand. A glance up at the younger man’s face, and he gently pulled the wrinkled paper free, reading the first few lines under his breath.

_My dearest Daniel,_

_I know I am too late in writing this now, to a grown man, but I must tell you before I go how sorry I am. When your mother died, I wanted so badly to take you into our home, not just for my sister’s sake, but because I loved you. I had from the very first baby picture your mother had secretly sent me. But Carl didn’t want another child in the house, and I didn’t fight him. I wish now I had..._

Jack stopped reading, angry red clouding his vision. So there had been an aunt, one who hadn’t taken in an orphaned little boy because her husband didn’t wanted to clutter up the house. And now she was dead, Jack guessed, leaving her nephew this little bombshell to tear open all the old wounds just so she could die with a clear conscience. Hating the dead was nothing new to Jack, and right now he was repulsed by this woman he would never meet.

Daniel coughed in his sleep, shifting restlessly. Jack’s eyes were drawn back to him, a reminder of what he really should be worried about. Like a teammate...and friend...who looked as sick in body as he probably was in heart.

Softening, Jack brushed a hand lightly against the sleeper’s hair with clumsy affection and whispered, “Be right back, Danny boy.” He shoved his duffel bag under the chair and pushed himself to his feet, and found himself still holding the letter. Spying the envelope tucked in between Daniel’s leg and the chair, Jack worked it free, slipping the letter back inside before replacing the envelope. Then he strode away with determination.

Five minutes later he was back in the waiting room, a doctor from the E.R. in tow. The man probably thought there was an outbreak of bubonic plague, from Jack’s steely, rushed insistence he come, but that didn’t matter as long as he did his job.

“He’s the one.” Jack nodded at the comatose figure, who looked exactly as he’d left him, and parked himself protectively beside the chair. “I found him like this.”

The annoyed look on the doctor’s face faded at the sight of Daniel, which Jack wasn’t sure was a bad or good thing, and the older man half-knelt in front of the archaeologist to check him out.

As Jack had expected, the poking and prodding aroused the sleeper, and Daniel gave a start that wasn’t nearly as startled as it should have been. Still, reflex kicked in and he reached up to bat the hands away that were in the process of lifting his eyelids and shining a wickedly bright light inside.

“Take it easy, Daniel,” Jack said calmly, checking the motion without effort. The arm he caught was waekened and uncoordinated, and didn’t try to break free. “Just let the doc check you out.”

Daniel’s face was drawn in confusion, staring first at the white-fringed face of the doctor, then making an attempt to look up. “Jack?”

“Yeah, I’m here.”

Daniel’s eyes sank shut again. “Must’ve been a dream,” he murmured. “I thought I was in V’ginia.”

He didn’t sound good to Jack, dull and feeble. Definitely not his Daniel. Letting go of the limp arm, he patted Daniel’s nearest shoulder instead. “Everything’s gonna be okay.”

A heavy nod. “I didn’ mean what I said...about getting a life. I just...”

Jack squatted next to his chair, gripping his shoulder more firmly. “Daniel, trust me, I’m not worried about that right now. Let’s just get you looked after, then we’ll talk.”

Too-placid blue eyes blinked at him. “‘M I dying? Last time you sounded like that...was on P--”

“Uh, that’d be a negative on the dying,” Jack hastily cut in. “You just caught a little cold or something.” Last thing they needed was to tell the nice civilian doctor about the alien attack that had nearly killed Daniel on a planet halfway across the universe. Nor was Jack comfortable with the subject, or happy with Daniel’s lack of resistance. Where was the stubborn set of jaw that so often exasperated him?

The doctor spoke up, soothing and maybe even amused. “You’re not dying, Mr. Jackson. With a fever, extreme fatigue, and congestion in the lungs, I’d say you have a bad case of the flu. Does it hurt anywhere?”

“Arms and...neck and back.”

A knowing nod. “Headache?”

“Size of th’ Temple of Sobek.”

“That’d be a ‘yes’,” Jack jumped in helpfully.

“So I gathered.” The doctor collected his equipment and stood. “Classic flu. We can find him a bed here if you want, but all he needs is rest and fluids, not specialized care.”

Jack didn’t have to ponder that one. Daniel spent too much time in the infirmary as it was, and Jack could certainly make sure the scientist got sleep and juice. Besides, it would beat coming out to visit him every day. “I’ll handle it.”

The doctor nodded. “I’ll send you my bill,” he said drily, and strode off, back toward the E.R. Jack belatedly realized he should have thanked the man, then shrugged it off. He’d send him a card. If he figured out what the guy’s name was.

Beside him, Daniel was working on rising from the chair, more or less failing. Jack shook his head and hooked a hand under the archaeologist’s arm, hauling him to his feet. Daniel looked dazed to find himself suddenly upright, but recovered himself and gave Jack a serious look.

“I’m not going on a mission today, Jack.”

“I don’t think Hammond’ll mind,” Jack said absently, trying to reach under the chair for his duffel while holding on to the weaving Daniel. “You have any baggage?”

“Don’t we all?” He was feeling his pockets, as if looking for something.

Jack groaned. A sane, coherent Daniel was hard enough to talk to, let alone a feverish, out of his head one. “Bags, Daniel. When you came on the plane.”

He was still searching. “No time. Jack, my letter...”

“Right here.” Jack picked up the discarded envelope off the chair, hesitating a moment before sliding it into the breast pocket of Daniel’s shirt. “Ready to go?”

But Daniel had pulled the letter out and stood staring at it. “My aunt Paula died.”

Jack stopped, also looking uncomfortably at the white paper. “Yeah, I know,” he said, quiet. “I’m sorry.”

Daniel looked up at him, but it was clear he wasn’t seeing. “Jack.” He swayed again.

“Later, Daniel,” Jack said briskly. Shrugging the duffel onto one shoulder, he put his free arm around the younger man’s back and started ushering him down the hall. “I promise, we’ll work it out later.”

The trip downstairs and then in the taxi reminded him of one of the few times he’d ever seen Daniel truly drunk. It had been the archaeologist’s anniversary, the first he’d celebrated alone, and it had taken most of the evening for Jack to find his AWOL teammate. Following his suspicions, he’d gone through most of the bars in the area before finding Daniel slumped over a back table in a particularly sleazy joint, soused nearly out of his mind. It had taken considerable coordinated maneuvering to get his decidedly uncoordinated friend out of the bar, into Jack’s truck, and back to Daniel’s place. There, Daniel had consequently thrown up, cried himself out on Jack’s shoulder as they’d both sat on the bathroom floor, and then fallen so dead asleep that he hadn’t even stirred when Jack put him to bed. Jack had been gone by the morning, leaving a pot of freshly brewed coffee in the kitchen, and Daniel had never mentioned it again. But Jack had his suspicions about the source of two prime-seating hockey tickets he’d found slipped under his door a few days later.

The memory softened his exasperation at Daniel’s unwieldiness, that and the awful coughing the younger man sometimes broke into. Jack was relieved to get him bundled into a taxi, headed for the nearest motel. Daniel promptly curled up against him and fell asleep.

Then there were the memories that only a father could have, of his son, his flesh-and-blood, whose protection was Jack’s most important job in the world, sleeping trustingly against him like that. Charlie had had brown hair, too, and an insatiable curiosity that only rested when he did.

The fierce ache squeezed a groan out of Jack, and as Daniel stirred in response, Jack nudged him away, upright against the taxi seat.

“Sorry,” Daniel mumbled, mostly asleep, and folded into a painful-looking position before going under again.

He wasn’t Charlie. He wasn’t a kid, either, even though the difference of age and his damnably innocent enthusiasm led Jack to think of him that way sometimes. Until suddenly he caught a glimpse of those old, knowing eyes, or the roles were abruptly reversed and it was Daniel looking after him. Daniel was young by choice, by a determination to continue to find joy and meaning in what he did. It was one of the things Jack admired about the man, when he wasn’t annoyed by it. They were more equals than Jack often would admit, in their stubbornness if nothing else.

Jack sighed and tugged Daniel back to his side, the mussed brown head flopping on his shoulder. He seemed hotter now, probably not really aware of where he was or what Jack was doing. But his breaths grew deeper, a little less strained, and he let out a soft, sighed word Jack barely caught.

“Sha’re.”

Swallowing a sigh of his own, Jack draped an arm around the slumped figure to hold it there, and stared impassively out the window until they reached the hotel.

 

Zat gun blasts were hell. His muscles ache and trembled, beyond his control, and first he was baking, then even the air he breathed was too cold.            

But slowly Daniel decided it wasn’t a zat gun’s effects, after all. It went on for too long, he was sure of that even though time had blurred. And even a zat gun didn’t cause such heaviness in his lungs or tearing, wet coughs. This was some whole new torture. And Jack was there, apparently going through it with him.

In a pastel room, on a soft bed?            

The information was too fragmented to make sense of. Jack making him drink something sweet. The piles of heavy, warm blankets when he was freezing. Jack’s voice in the background, quiet and unusually serious. Cold, wet cloths on his pounding, scorched forehead. A modern bathroom, which he visited dizzily and not alone. Fingers kneading his sore muscles in good-bad pain. And a weariness no amount of sleep seemed able to cure.

But Jack _was_ there, and seemed to have things under control as he usually did. And while arguing with Jack was one of Daniel’s favorite pastimes, when it came down to it, he trusted the man like few others. He went to sleep without worry.

The ache and the extremes of temperature finally began to recede, taking with them the earlier confusion. Even raising his head seemed like too much effort to Daniel, but the need for sleep had dulled merely to strong desire. And with comprehension came the realization that he was in a hotel room somewhere on Earth with Jack O’Neill.

Jack was the first thing he saw, in fact, the colonel sitting a few feet away in a plush, drab chair, reading. Daniel squinted to see the title of the thick book, but without his glasses he was lucky to see the book. Not to mention the fuzz that still edged his vision.

He licked his lips, wishing he could moisten his parchment-lined mouth, and croaked, “Jack?”

The book instantly lowered, the surprised expression Daniel could recognize even without his glasses transforming into a pleased smile. “Daniel. Finally decided to come see me again. I’m touched.”

Thinking still wasn’t easy, and Daniel frowned, puzzling over that.

Jack put the book on the floor beside him and leaned forward, bridging half the distance between them. “You with me?” he asked a little less lightly.

“I think so.” It was unpleasant to talk, like the words were scraping his throat. To his wonder, Jack got up, pouring something that sounded wet and wonderful, and then offered Daniel the end of a straw. Apple juice, and the honeyed taste reminded him of earlier. That had been Jack? Daniel drank deeply, staring at the older man with frank bewilderment.

He drank until he was tired, all of a half-dozen sips, before sinking back into the pillow. Or pillows, maybe, because he wasn’t nearly as flat as he should have been. It almost made breathing easy.

Jack put the glass back on the table, looking suddenly a little uncertain himself as he retreated back to his chair. “Carter doesn’t hear a word about this,” he suddenly said.

“O-kay,” Daniel allowed. “But I’m not sure...”

“Virginia Beach? Motel 6? Flying across the country when you were sick with the flu, without telling anyone? Any of this sound familiar?” That oh-so familiar O’Neill sarcasm had a slight edge to it.

“Oh.” The awful flight. Feeling sick. And Virginia Beach. Daniel closed his eyes. “Aunt Paula.”

Jack’s voice gentled. “Yeah. Sorry.”

Daniel shook his head, and waited for the contents to stop sloshing before he opened his eyes again. Even the ceiling was in pastels. “I hardly knew her. She and my mother weren’t close.”

“But it still hurts.” Jack sounded so...knowing. “Even if she wasn’t willing to fight for you.”

Daniel’s emotions eddied. “You read the letter,” he said, a little accusation still creeping in.

He could hear Jack stir. “A little, yeah. For some strange reason I wanted to know why someone in my team up and flew across the country without letting anyone know why.”

That edge was there again, and Daniel’s own sense of betrayal flared against it. He flung his gaze over to Jack. “I’m sorry I wasn’t doing my _job_ again. But I wasn’t the one who left first.”

Jack’s mouth opened, closed again, and he seemed to sink back minutely in his chair. “Score one for Daniel. Okay, yeah, I took off. I’m not used to anyone caring.”

The honesty of that admission, maybe more than Jack had meant, stole his anger. “Neither am I,” Daniel whispered. He was so tired, he was missing half of what was going on in the conversation, and was too easy to upset. “Jack--”

“Look, Daniel...I’m gonna say this one time.” Jack leaned forward, hard-eyed and firm. “This isn’t about work. Yeah, I don’t have much of a life outside the SGC to go home to, not without Charlie and Sara. But I always had the Air Force, and now I’ve got a family there, too. Seemed like you felt the same way.”

“I do,” Daniel said tentatively.

“So...that means you don’t go running off, not feeling well, to see a dying relative without telling one of us first. Even if I’m mad at you, I’ll listen.”

That promise, so casually offered, righted Daniel’s off-kilter world and lodged a lump in his throat. It meant more than he could have put into words, Jack’s implicit respect for him, and the heaviness inside him, far deeper than the physical ache, began to crack and loosen. He gave Jack a regretful look. “And that if I say something stupid, you’ll let me apologize without taking off.”

“Maybe,” Jack said guardedly.

Daniel raised an eyebrow. “Maybe?”

Jack made a face. “Okay, yeah. Satisfied?”

“No.” Trust allowed him to take a chance and be bold. “It also means I’m entitled to my life, too, Jack, even if I want to spend it working.”

“Sometimes.” Jack didn’t look like he liked the way things were going.

Daniel yawned widely, the tension starting to drain away. “And that you let me spend all the time I need on-site doing my research.”

Jack all but growled, “You’re pushing it, Jackson.”

Daniel smiled. “I know.” He really did know, why Jack was there and what he’d been doing since that awful day in the hospital however-long ago. And, finally, how he felt about Paula Meehan.

“Funeral’s tomorrow afternoon,” Jack said quietly, voice unexpectedly kind.

He almost asked how Jack had known, either what he was thinking or about the funeral, but Daniel wasn’t surprised enough to do so.

Jack went on. “I figure if you stay in that bed and sleep until then and eat what I put in front of you, you can sit through the service without falling over.” He paused. “If you want to go.”

Daniel sighed, letting his eyes drift shut. He could just imagine what Jack thought of Paula, if he’d read the first part of the letter. Jack was more kind-hearted than he would have admitted, but all he saw in her was someone who’d once hurt Daniel. What Daniel saw was someone who’d had even less of a home, less unselfish love than Daniel had been blessed with.

And he felt sorry for her.

“I want to go,” he said, and yawned again. “Thanks, Jack.”

He fell asleep before Jack answered. And knew the next day, he wouldn’t go alone.

The End


End file.
